A Sick Day

A Sick Day

As I awake to contemplate my viral’d blurry head

My nurses are two curled cats in covers on my bed,

Now I am launched; the cats behind as if they’re chasing mice,

My one pursuit to pour some tea into a glass of ice.

I must escape all turning in, and air conditioned room,

The common cold’s no fair excuse for self-inducing gloom,

I walk out to the garden for its life effusing air,

On cue bright bands of lilies raise triumphant trumpet flare.

The marigold with yellow face all crowd the outer clime,

As rod like purple Lythrum wave in metronomic time,

And, orchestrated budded bush devoid of any flower,

Await conducted nature’s nod to bloom in its fine hour.

A choir of birds sang songs of Spring as up and down they swirled,

As I was lifted spirited by viewing God’s grand world!

Peter Lowell Paulson

June 12, 2016

Reid (My Three-year Old Grandson)

Reid (My Three-year Old Grandson)

A swell of emotion,

A heartfelt rending,

Near wrenching,

Caught up in the sleeplessness of “goodbye”,

No death, just parting from a three-year old,

But, not “just parting” either,

Sweet memories swept and sweeping still,

The constant crawling up upon my lap,

With arms caressing my neck,

And, his little head pressed against my shoulder,

As if it was a pillow,

Then as sudden,

A stiff armed push against my chest,

To get a good look at me,

Eye to eye,

And, grin,

Then laugh,

And, jabber for a while,

Only to drop once more,

His head upon my shoulder pillow,

And, tighten those little arms around my neck,

As if afraid,

I might slip away.

Now, will it last…it won’t,

But, memories move me,

These memories will be,

Kept forever!

Peter Lowell Paulson

June 6, 2016

(Poem written after a four-day Grandpa and Grandma “babysitting” this weekend)

Humility

Humility

Humility, a fickle thing,

If I but say I’m offering-

Humility, it’s what I’ve got,

A humble person I am not.

Humility’s not steeped in shame,

Or all beliefs as being the same,

There is that aspect of respect,

To care for other’s intellect.

The powerful must stifle greed,

Yet still be strong when they must lead,

It’s never meek or weak to try,

To carry humble banner high.

Humility, when we pursue,

Far less in words, it’s what we do,

Humility, the virtue of,

Is wrapped within a word called “Love”!

Peter Lowell Paulson

May 29, 2016

A Brilliant Light

A Brilliant Light

 

I ne’er despair whate’er my lot,

For God has found the very spot-
On which I stand, and when I fall,
The highs the lows; He sees it all.

When life is grand or when it’s grim,

Yes, for it all my thanks to Him-
Who made me what I am today,
No shame at all to kneel and pray.

The more I seek the more I find,

It’s when I turn my back I’m blind-
I’ve found in life my greatest sin,
Is when my will has turned within?

Compounded by that question mark,

The bluest blues; the darkest dark,
Yet, brilliant light shines through each loss,
The One who saves survived the cross!

Peter Lowell Paulson

April 2, 2016

Nighttime

Nighttime

Solace, solace,

Shimmering silence,

Amidst a sleepy, somnolent sigh,

A peace within; without,

Upon a wisp of every whispered wish-

And, wonder,

All welcomed,

Nighttime descends.

Peter Lowell Paulson

March 18, 2016

Bean Soup

Bean Soup

I only saw you cry,

Once,

Over bean soup,

Four boys,

No, five…Dad, too,

You wanted one daughter,

You tried four times,

Best boy Mom that God could make,

And, we got her,

You,

You slaved over that bean soup,

Pride and joy,

You smiled,

We joked,

You cried,

First time we got you flowers,

All five of us,

And, we said…Sorry,

Thank, God that’s over,

Back to normal,,

Back to joy,

Back to smiles,

Back to laughter,

Best Mom, ever!

(No more bean soup, though).

Peter Lowell Paulson

March 7, 2016

PS Happy Birthday, Mom a couple of days early (March 11^th)

Who Was Jesus?

Who Was Jesus?

 I’ve had to read (and, rightly so),

In history (what do we know),
Of Jesus, did he walk on earth?
From skeptics of a virgin birth.

 They question variated word,

Of Gospels, and the tales we’ve heard,
Decrying its veracity.
All claims in historicity?

The methods are empirical,

To strip away the miracle,
And, in this search there is a plan,
Jesus, like us is just a man.

Yet, once I’d read their hardened stance,

I think about my second chance,
I tried life by myself, you see,
It’s Christ who gave me victory!

We read once more the Gospel view,

About the Son of God they knew,
From cross, to grave; who then was raised,
From fear to faith Disciples praised!

Yes, this is He the Christ I’ve known,

Who tears me from my comfort zone,
Now, as He loved; so I must love,
And, ever praise my God above!

Peter Lowell Paulson

February 15 2016